


Jini Duts’e

by osunism



Series: Get Us There [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Dom/sub, F/M, Knifeplay, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osunism/pseuds/osunism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson and Hadiza engage in some playtime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jini Duts’e

**Author's Note:**

> _Jini duts’e_ is rough Hausa (my translation and pronounciation may be off) for “blood stone.” I can’t remember the word for ‘red’ lol but that’s what the words mean. In case you haven’t noticed, I incorporate Hausa (and to a lesser extent, Okpella) words to be analogous to Rivaini culture/language for my headcanons.

The room was unseasonably warm, but it didn’t matter. Hadiza shifted on her knees, feeling the ache in them, straining against the ropes that bound her arms. The rope-work was intricate, a trick he’d learned back in Kirkwall, he’d told her, from a woman that called herself Serendipity.

Hadiza tested the strength of the binds, gasping when the ropes tightened against her bare skin. He’d tied a knot in one of the loops, and it sat squarely between her lust-slick netherlips.

If she moved, so did the knot, stroking against her clit, so she was forced to stillness, lest she bring herself to climax, still bound and blindfolded.

Her head turned when she heard his boots crossing the floor, and she took a deep, anticipatory breath, biting her lip as she struggled not to move too suddenly.

“You’ve been such a good girl today, princess,” Samson’s voice washed over her robbed senses like a spill of warm water. The resulting shiver was more out of her innate response to him than anything else. “How will I reward you?”

Hadiza’s head turned this way and that, attempting to follow his footsteps as he prowled around her kneeling form. For a brief moment, his fingers trailed in the heavy curls of her jet black hair, against her nape, and along her shoulder before he broke contact. She bit her lip to keep from whimpering. He hadn’t touched her all day save to bind her, and now she was kneeling in helpless supplication, starved for the barest contact.

“Well?” Samson’s growl made her blood leap in her veins, and her body jerked in response, that damnable knot passing over her clit and making her cry out.

“Shut it.” Samson snapped, “I don’t remember giving you permission to get yourself off.” Hadiza tried to be still, but the sensation had left an echo in her body, like a plucked harp string, and she shuddered on her knees, lips parted as she panted.

“Now,” his voice was closer now, he was squatting in front of her, “how shall we play, princess? Do you want to come hard and fast and have done with it? Or do you want me to work on you until you can’t remember how do shit else but follow orders?”

Hadiza licked her lips.

“Please, ser...” She begged, her voice a tremulous whisper, “...I want to play.” She wanted to hide her smile, so she bit her lip. Since she couldn’t see him, she knew he was grinning.

“Good girl,” he told her, and she froze when she heard the whisper of steel sliding from a sheath, “do you remember your stop-word?”

“ _Jini duts’e_.” Hadiza said firmly. It was a Rivaini phrase, meaning ‘blood stone.’ Because Samson did not speak the tongue, it was impossible for him to mistake the word for anything but Hadiza’s signal to halt their play. He smiled. He knew why she chose that word, and it was ever a secret between them.

“Good.” He told her, and then Hadiza froze, her body beginning to tremble as cold Kirkwall steel pressed against her cheek. She knew it was his personal dagger. It was well-tended and finely honed. She’d seen it cut through cloth like air, knew it could part the satin of her shift with barely a whisper of the fabric. She drew in a deep breath through her nose. The flat of the blade traced the beatific lines that sculpted her high cheekbone, the sleek line of her jaw, and then the blade was at her throat.

Hadiza swallowed, felt her skin barely make contact with the thin edge.

“Say it,” Samson ordered.

“No.” She whispered, her voice rife with defiance. It was part of the game. She rebelled against his dominance, but reveled in the resulting punishment. She lived for it, knew that this erotic push and pull would see them off to exactly where they both wanted to be.

Samson’s growled in agitation, and then trailed the dagger’s edge down her throat. Hadiza lifted her chin, allowing him further access, but the ropes kept her from moving further, her breasts upthrust, her back arched, and her thighs parted. Samson loved the sight of her bound, but he also loved how she fought so hard against her own submission.

The knife’s runing activated, and Hadiza hissed as the cold began to do its damage. The cutting itself was not real, but the minute cold damage made it feel as if she were being cut. Where his knife trailed, gooseflesh rose in its place, along her breasts, her nipples stiff and hard as he pricked the dark buds with the tip of the knife, leaving a thin layer of frost that bit into her skin, then melted and dripped, chasing a path along her curves.

The whole time, Hadiza whimpered. She didn’t beg, no, her pride was as yet intact that she’d not beg him for release. He continued to work on her, the knife tracing unseen sigils on her skin, following the paths of the ropes that bound her so tightly, until her hips jerked and she cried out as that knot stroked her clit again.

The ropes drew tighter.

“Mm,” Samson watched her writhe for a moment, withdrawing his blade, “when you’re ready, princess.” He took her by the hair, and led her stumbling and blind to the fireplace. There, he sat in the plush chair and she knelt between his knees.

“Ser, please...” Hadiza eked out in a desperate whimper, the knot was rubbing every time she moved, the rope slick with her arousal, her netherlips swollen and engorged from desire. Samson smirked, unlacing his breeches as he sheathed his blade.

“Come here, princess, as you are...on your knees.” She knew what that meant and carefully, she inched forward, seeking, only to have him grab her hair as her lips found the tip of his engorged cock. She took him in eagerly, welcoming him into her mouth like a desert during a thunderstorm, and then she soon realized what he was about. Without the use of her arms, bound as they were, she had to move and work twice as hard to get as much of him slick as she could, and with each movement...the little knot stroked up and down, up and down...building up the heat in her core.

She moaned around his cock, dropping her neck, head bobbing above his groin eagerly as her orgasm began to build and build. Part of her reveled in his fervent swears, his shallow grunts, his growls, his hissing as his cock bumped the back of her tight throat, making her gag. Her saliva coated him from base to tip, trailing from her swollen lips, coating her chin, and dripping along his heavy sac in a lewd display of worship.

And then he shoved her head downward as she came, listening to her choked cry, and groaning loudly as his cock twitched once, then twice, spilling spurts of hot, thick seed into her throat as she shivered between his knees, riding her own release.

He pulled her away, roughly, with a wet sucking sound. He saw her pleased smile, his seed dripping from the corner of her mouth, her saliva-slick lips parted, the tip of her tongue snaking out to catch what she’d missed. Her skin shone with a light sheen of sweat from her own release, and Samson grinned.

“Good girl,” He said, stroking her hair affectionately, “now let’s set you loose. The night is still young.”

Her pleased smile was all he needed before he began the task of untying the ropes.


End file.
